


Slay Me With Your Words

by Miss_L



Category: The Night Manager (TV)
Genre: CorkyPine, Fighting, M/M, SO, Smut-ish, Spoilers for 1x03, Torture, and so on - Freeform, and testosterone, bit of light flirting, much - Freeform, random thoughts, spoilers for 1x02, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NEW PREMISE!<br/>This is the thing where I am going to dump my feelings about them Tom-boys (see what I did there? SEE?) as the show continues. So, prepare to be spoiled for the (one before) latest episode. Ye be warned.<br/>Check the chapter for summary ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am still alive.  
> All faults my own, characters belong to John le Carré and BBC, I only borrow them for some rough play. Blabla, and so on ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 1x02  
> Inspired by Corkoran's beautiful bed-side speech.  
> Or, what might happen when "we're better".

The only thing Jonathan kept wondering about at this point was why they had let him heal at all. Not that he cared, but his mind was irritatingly lucid and his brain refused to shut down to sleep when his body was in such discomfort. Oh, and the lights were also constantly on and shining right in his face. Bugger. So yes, in order not to go mad with boredom - and really, had his tormentors been a little cleverer, they would know what boredom was the worst torture imaginable for a bright mind – he kept wondering about the nature of murderers’ kindness, his own place in the world, and all the other stupid bullshit one wonders about when suspended from their wrists and balancing on quite a wonky bit of a crate on their tip-toes. Yes, “a bit” of a crate, because clearly, a whole crate was asking too much.

The door opened and Pine-Linden-Quince felt, rather than saw, Corkoran glide into the room. For a short and somewhat stubby creature, the man was full of raw elegance. The door closed again, signalling the beginning of their – by now ritual – interaction. Which consisted mostly of the Gay Butcher (hey, Jonathan had to come up with some sort of moniker, didn't he?) uttering elaborate and highly suggestive speeches in a sneering, yet hungry tone of voice, wooing his prey with bloody and poetic metaphors. Contrary to his promise (threat?), he hadn’t done anything to Jonathan’s ankles, albeit the rest of him had suffered greatly for it. Pine had stopped focusing on the meaning of his tormentor's sentences, because he knew that the true meaning lay beneath.

Even now, while Corkoran’s interrogation was in full swing, all that really registered was how the words caressed Jonathan’s face, his broken limbs and bruised pride. It didn't really matter how much he pleaded innocent (of what?) or how much blood he spat in his only companion’s general direction (considering the lack of angry hissing, this newest projectile had missed its target entirely), the only thing that mattered was the Boss Man. It was a waiting game, really, _waiting_ for Roper to get tired, to decide that he’s either going to let his son’s saviour live and perhaps even become part of the pack – or that the ingrate dog was nothing but a phony and deserved no less than dying. Then the real work could begin. Jonathan had watched the movies, of course. When he was young and naïve – and he ceased being naïve long before he grew out of “young” – he had even entertained grand, heroic dreams. Never dreams of doing undercover work, of course. He had always looked good in a suit, but he was no Sean Connery. Not even a Pearce Brosnan.

Jonathan let the sound carry him on its waves, submerge him in a sea of false promises and offensive flattery. He was so engulfed, in fact, that he scarcely noticed how the ropes hoisting him up were cut and the provisional footrest removed. It was only when he hit the tiled floor of the small barn he was kept in with several revolting crunches, that the soldier-gone-hotelier-gone-spy opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. The pounding in his head and the delayed misery spreading itself through his joints did nothing to help. Soft strong hands lifted him up, then beat him down again with ferocious resolve. He hit the tiles again and this time, his brain finally offered him some respite and shut down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 1x03  
> Jonathan has succeeded in slandering Corky and taking his place, but do we really think the Major is going to take that insult laying down? Clearly, we do not, or we wouldn't be writing fanfic xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This was _so_ not going well, or where I wanted it to, but I haz managed! *fistpump*  
>  Sorry for the emo-dump. I'll try to give the boys a more written happy ending next time. If the plot allows ;)

Now officially Andrew Birch (might as well get used to it) was just enjoying a warm (and somewhat wet) memory of Jed when his semi-conscious hearing picked up the unmistakeable turning of a key. Considering he was in bed in “his” cottage, this was a rather worrisome development. Awake and alert, he jumped out of bed and moved quietly towards the door, one hand on the wall. But before he had reached his destination, his back was pushed against the same wall and his throat squeezed tight in a quick succession of dark-grey blurs. Training kicked in before panic could, capturing smell, force of grip and height (the intruder’s cigarette-laced breath only barely reached his collar bone). Major Lance Montague Corkoran, former Right Hand to R.O. Roper, now disgraced and on his way out of the household. Pity. He’d rather hoped that the lovely Lady of the Lake had come here to grace him with her presence, but that would be asking too much, wouldn't it?

Birch pushed against his assailant’s chest with one hand, trying to free his throat from the death-grip with the other. His first assumption dissolved like morning dew. The major had not looked for courage in one bottle too many. The man wasn’t drunk at all, in fact, unless you count drunk on rage. And boy, was he ever. His intent was clear: death. Brain failing by lack of oxygen in the taller man’s blood, he made one last effort to push Corkoran off – and succeeded. 

“Look!” he shouted, putting his hands up. Clearly, the major’s night-vision was far superior to his own, because the heaving bulk of angry didn't launch a new attack – yet.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” “Andrew” was playing stupid for a moment while trying to get his bearings. Look for a way out. Possibly a weapon.

“Oh please,” the cultured, suave tones were quieter and more menacing than ever. “You may be pretty and pretend you don’t know what’s what, but don’t insult my intelligence by assuming you've fooled me.”

There was sadness in his words, a sentiment that must have slipped through when he let the control go for one second too long. His opponent decided to use that momentum.

“Look, I don’t know what you intend to do with me, Corky-” He had miscalculated yet again – damn that woman’s image still swooshing around in his mind. This time, however, the Bulldog didn't simply lurch for his throat and try to crush his oesophagus; the blows came hard and fast – chest, stomach, chest again, a kick against his shin and a finishing blow to the right side of his mandible. Andrew fell to the ground, more stunned by the sudden realisation of Corky’s left-handedness than by the actual beating. 

The full moon shone a bright stripe of light through the featherlight curtains, shimmering in the sea-breeze, onto Major Corkoran’s face. It looked somewhat haggard, his hair a little greyer than before, but his gaze was anything but defeated. He seemed intent on straddling his prey’s chest, but that was the one thing that he could not be allowed to do. With a rather heroic effort, Andrew scrambled to his knees and landed a punch of his own. Lance seemed to have been prepared for something like that, because he swayed back to his heels with the force of the blow, but returned immediately. If it weren’t for the treacherous moonlight, he might have succeeded in his plan of knocking his rival out and doing whatever he wanted (which, for once, would _not_ involve buggery). As it was now, Birch managed to avoid the Major’s fist, grab his wrist and pull him off balance. His mind was crystal-clear now, but he chose not to break the man’s arm. Instead, he pushed Corkoran’s face to the floor and held him arm in a lock, waiting for him to stop struggling. Finally, Lance gave up.

“So…” came the somewhat muffled drawl from the floor. “Do you intend to break my arm or let me go anytime soon? Things to do, you see.” His bravura was impressive, considering his unfavourable position. Apparently, the spy had said that bit out loud.

“Not the first time I've bottomed, pet,” the prisoner countered, before a raw laugh shook his whole body. It stopped as quickly as it had started and he grew solemn. “Finish it,” he hissed. 

Tempting. That’s what it was. Nobody would mind, Birch knew. Roper would swallow his explanation of “I thought it was an intruder” (which, by the by, was only too true), and chances were, there were not many people in the world who would miss Major Lance Montague Corkoran. And he _wanted_ to, too. Letting the “bad guy” live was just asking for problems, anyone who’s ever read a comic book can tell you that. Like Spider-Man. He was always in a scrape because he refused to unalive the bad guys Deadpool-style. Psssht. Wuss. Still. At least Peter Parker never sunk to his opponents’ level…

Jonathan Pine let go of Corkoran’s arm and sat back. With another hiss, the Major sat up, eyes never leaving his rival’s, and rubbed his shoulder and face. Curiosity was clearly winning from jealousy and hate, but he wasn’t in a hurry to display it. His gaze travelled downwards and a sly smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Jonathan followed the pointed look – and felt his eyebrow rise.

“Well hello,” he breathed, voice raw with the strain of trying not to die. Then he looked back up, expecting some clever and not-so-covertly menacing quip from the Major. None followed. The mocking expression was still plastered all over the maniac’s face, but something else was coming through, as well. Something… _Overwhelmingly beautiful._

Corkoran charged at Jonathan again, knocking him to the floor and straddling his hips at last, assaulting his lips in what should have had all the hallmarks of an impending molestation. Instead, Pine realised as a hot, skilled tongue attacked his mouth with the force of a starved anaconda, this was the obvious – and _evidently_ highly desired by all – continuation of the foreplay that the previous struggle had been. 

_Can’t argue with military logic, Jonathan thought with a grin, almost effortlessly flipping the Major over and kissing him back, hard, bruising even, yet infinitely tender. Then he stopped and looked down at his opponent, the state of the man mirroring his own. _We’re a mess,” he thought distractedly, surveying the impatience, sweat and small patched of floor-rash on Lance’s face in the dim light, making it ugly – or gorgeous? A small hint of hatred was still lingering in the corners of his eyes, changing colour like the volatile ocean, but what is hatred but the flipside of desire? His captive was starting to show signs of discomfort, perhaps alarmed as to why the kissage had stopped, but Jonathan’s only response was putting a hand on his cheek. His visual exploration continued downward, his fingers following. When he arrived at Corkoran’s neck, he squeezed the pulsing veins a little and was rewarded with a defiant glare and an even more defiant cock of the greying head.__

__Again, the desire to hurt, maim, kill surged through the former night manager’s chest, ending up in his crotch, adding to the strain already present there. He was certain he could do it, and even almost certain he should… _But what would be the fun in that?_ He let his mouth assail the Major’s neck, abuse the soft skin until he drew a mind-melting moan from the swollen lips. Corkoran was helpless against this onslaught, a willing prisoner, reduced to a mess of feeling and lust. It was – truly - breathtaking._ _

__After what had felt like an eternity of kissing and groping, Pine finally let his guest reclaim the upper hand. Of course, Lance could no longer pretend to be all suave and composed, but of course, Lance wouldn't be Lance without thinking of some clever come-back eventually._ _

__“So, Andrew-” he began, tracing one very straight collar bone with a finger._ _

__“Call me Jonathan, please.” _Shit. Fuck. Mothertittyarse-in-the-hole._ That was a mistake. Make himself vulnerable in a moment of weakness. _Great._ But… Just like before, a strange kind of sadness, melancholy even, broke the surface of Corkoran’s being, except this time, it lingered. Whatever he was going to say had suddenly become irrelevant, and he decided, for once, to let his body do the talking._ _

__***_ _

__Andrew Birch woke up slowly, a pleasant weariness enveloping his body – except in the places where Major Corkoran had punched him. His eyes flew open. _Lance?_ The cottage was empty, but the night stand bore a neatly penned note. _ _

__**_NEXT TIME_ ** _ _

__Was it a promise? Or a threat? Both, Birch hoped. Much more fun that way._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 1x04  
> Sexy butt-times!  
> Also, some feels, because what's the world without them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Well. Sorry it took so long, my darlings, but first there was life *shivers*, then there was grief and denial. There is still denial ;)  
> Enjoy!  
> <3

They had made the deal. The sale was finished. And then MI6 decided to fuck up, in a fashion that even according to their own “high” standards was incredibly disappointing. Jonathan got brownie points for pulling Roper out of the line of fire, of course, even though he would have much rather pushed him in. So here they were, back in Spain, baking in the sun and doing nothing all day. Jonathan himself was battling more than the heat with Jed filling his every thought - and line of vision. Corky was still under house-arrest, moping about the place like a moody cocker spaniel, shooting Pine glances full of hatred and porn. Not always in that order. 

Jonathan lounged in the pool, leaning on the edge, watching through his sunglasses as Corky tried to decide whether he wanted to focus on the hot youth’s chest or crotch. It was droll, really. Something Roper had said in Istanbul suddenly came to mind. _”What Corky wouldn't give for a night with you.”_ He wondered… Would that possibly shut up the suspicions? Sure, his reputation would be forever ruined, Corky was not known for discretion where his sexual endeavours were concerned, but… The scene at the restaurant hadn’t been pleasant, yet he couldn’t say he minded terribly to have been groped. If anything, it had been a bit flattering, reducing the Major to a heap on the floor with his body alone. 

Jed came out of the house, drawing Jonathan’s eyes to her like the arrow of a compass. Corkoran got up and walked over to her to say a few words in her ear. Pine watched the exchange, watched Jed’s expressive, yet cautious face. He decided then what he had always known – this woman was worth the humiliation, and more. A plan was hatched. He tossed his sunglasses onto the terrace and dove into the cool water.

Right now, Jonathan was regretting not having had that after-dinner snifter. He arrived at the door, raised his hand to knock and- Stopped. This was stupid. He should have a run on the beach and forget the whole thing. Then the image of Sophie, dead and bloodied on the floor, came to mind. Except it wasn’t Sophie lying there. It was Jed. He resolutely knocked and waited. Lance appeared, gun in one hand, electric razor in the other. Clearly, he’d made plans for the night. _So have I,_ Jonathan thought with growing satisfaction as he watched Corky’s face go from weary to downright distrusting. This was going to be fun. The razor disappeared. The gun did not.

“What do you want, Pine?” The Major spat his real name like it was something indigestible.

Jonathan walked into the room slowly and closed the door behind him.

“You,” he said, keeping his tone casual, but his eyes soft and warm. Corkoran smirked, apparently genuinely amused. His guest smelled deodorant and toothpaste. No alcohol. _Good. He’ll remember this in the morning._ The Major’s face grew solemn.

“What do you really want, Pine?” Corky asked again, even more acidic now. Distrust turned to simmering anger. Jonathan stepped forward again, reached out his open hand and repeated his previous answer. Lance dropped his gun, but neither man paid attention to the useless weapon. He stepped back, emotions quickly succeeding each other on his face, mingling into a confusing palette on his aristocratic face. Disbelief, mockery, lust, but most of all – fear. Fear of rejection, fear of getting in too deep, fear of getting what he wanted and- What then?

“Corky-” Jonathan coaxed. 

“Don’t,” his prey squeaked and twitched another step backwards.

“Lance.” He tried _that_ tone of voice. The one that worked on the Turk. On Roper, even. Pine observed how the other man’s pupils blew wide, and a small sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. Power of speech was quickly leaving the usually so eloquent Major, but watchfulness won in the end.

“Why?”

Jonathan shrugged. He decided that today was not a day for lies. “To get it out of your system. To get it out of _our_ systems,” he added, timbre dropping another octave. He almost felt sorry, watching Lance struggle to get his lust-soaked brains to cooperate.

“I thought you liked Jed?” he managed, albeit with much less venom than he usually would. There was jealousy in his voice, however fleeting, and again that fear of rejection. Made Pine wonder- But that would have to wait. For now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand. Mission Seduce Corky. He could no longer evade the question.

“Yes,” he answered, voice again light, accentuating his semi-indifference with a shrug. “But she belongs to the Boss. And you seem quite unattached.” He let his gaze wander over Corky’s body – not quite young and fit, but hey, he’d definitely seen worse in the army. Besides, true male attraction had little to do with muscles and a trim belly, he knew. At the lower end of his examination, he noticed a glaring interest in his proposal. _Gotcha._ To his credit, Corky didn't look down, or try to cover himself. He just kept staring into Jonathan’s eyes, trying to figure out what his game was.

Pine made another step towards his prey and bent slightly forward; then he stopped. Giving Corkoran room to think it over, maybe even say no. After all, even a man like Lance Montague Corkoran, alias “Corky”, did not deserve to be molested. Not to mention that it was much more fun to let the attraction work, rather than force a connection. Lance’s eyes were still trying to decipher the puzzle that was Andrew Birch, but his body seemed to have given up already. His hand gently cupped the taller man’s cheek, as if he was afraid that that beautiful face would dissolve into mist if he squeezed too hard. Jonathan let Corky lean in for a kiss before sealing the deal.

Exactly 4.5 seconds later, the Major was straddling his trophy on the bed. Pine was still a little dizzy from the fast movement, which might have accounted for his inability to contain his sex-noises as his neck was being assaulted with military precision. Fuck that. He enjoyed having Corky’s tongue and lips all over his skin. No lies, right? His initial misgivings appeared to have been unwarranted. His own reactions had nothing of disgust or hesitation, and Corky, despite being a trained killer, was a perfect gentleman in bed. Despite being in charge, he didn’t force Jonathan’s boundaries, only taking as much as his partner was willing to give. _Hot._

The somewhat mellow contemplations were ended with a not-so-soft bite on his jugular, adding spicy pressure in his already straining cock. Lance allowed himself a malicious giggle, but grew sombre at Jonathan’s semi-scandalised glare.

“Too rough?” he asked almost apologetically. Almost.

“No-” Pine answered, voice raw with lust and need. He cleared his throat twice before continuing, “Rough is good.” 

Corky smiled – a real, genuine, soft smile, the likes of which Jonathan had not yet seen appear on his face. For a second there, it took Jonathan’s breath away.

“You haven’t done this before.” It was not an accusation, nor a question, or mockery. It was a simple statement of fact, which the Major proceeded to correct with all the patience and dedication of a pro. Struggling to keep his wits about him, Jonathan tried to retain Corky’s machinations. Who knew when he’d next need the knowledge? Hands. Soft. Never insisting, always asking. Exploring. Like scouts would reconnoitre enemy territory before a battle. Mouth. Hot. Gentle scrape of teeth. Wet tongue. Again, exploration at its best. Pine had always considered himself an attentive lover, but great Scott, Lance transcended his skills with a star and flying colours! He might have been jealous, had he not been the willing and eager victim of said proficiency.

It was his turn now. Pine flipped them both over. The pout he proceeded to kiss off Corky’s mouth had no right to be so adorable. He was rewarded with trembling hands on his rear. The spy looked down at the Major, a usually proud and cool creature who was now reduced to a mess of brain-chemicals, and put his hands on the man’s heaving collar bones. He could. And Lance wouldn't have made a protest, maybe not even a sound. This power he currently had over his fellow human being was more than intoxicating. It was exhilarating. However, killing would have to wait, because right now, he wanted to fuck Corkoran’s brains out. He leaned in for another kiss.

Over the course of a hurried undressing sequence, Jonathan learned two piquant details about his opponent – partner? – the man had indeed been preparing for a sexual encounter, and he was more than eager to bottom.

“F-fuck!” Corky moaned as Jonathan entered him in one fluent movement. His back was slick with sweat, arms straining to keep himself upright on the bed. Pine felt panic rise in his gut and stopped moving, considering pulling out and apologising, but a hoarse laugh interrupted his anxiety.

“Not made of china, pet,” Lance scoffed, voice lower and rougher than before. It definitely went straight to Jonathan’s cock this time. The Major turned his head and winked, then pushed back teasingly. “Well?” he asked impatiently. Pine felt an impish grin blossom on his face. With the first thrust, Corky cried out in pleasure. The second made his arms give out, effectively faceplanting him on the sheets. 

“How do you like me now?” Jonathan whispered hoarsely in his ear. _“Old love,”_ he added, accentuating each word with a thrust. His only answer was broken moaning – Corky’s brain was finally disconnected from his clever mouth. Jonathan leaned on the Major’s hands and proceeded to pound them both into blissful oblivion.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t even need to fake the worry – Corky still hadn’t said a word, and they were both past what should be considered a reasonable recovery time. Jonathan was rewarded with another real smile and a contented sigh. Who knew Lance Montague Corkoran, wise-mouth extraordinaire, would be so quiet after sex? Pine found it quite beautiful, seeing the other man completely relaxed. In fact, he caught himself staring, and closed his eyes, only to open them again when he heard Corky move. The older man sat upright, rolling his head to loosen his no doubt very stiff neck, but this time, Jonathan refused to feel guilty. Giving pleasure was not a crime.

But when he was about to close his eyes again and dose off, he saw a shadow cross the Major’s face. Then another one. Subtle, quick, but unmistakeably there – he knew Corky’s face by now. Features smooth again, Lance said, quietly, “Get out.” It was not exactly an order, but Jonathan dared not contradict. He got dressed and turned back around, but Corkoran’s face was turned away from him. Closing the door behind him, he sincerely hoped he had imagined the glimpse of tears in Corky’s eyes.


End file.
